


an exercise in humility

by pavaal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bedwetting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavaal/pseuds/pavaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk has a slight problem that he rightfully would rather not share with anyone. Jake, naturally, is a little too eager to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an exercise in humility

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this picture](http://boypart.tumblr.com/post/41462429377/shrugs-eternally) on tumblr!

You have never, not in your whole life, been so humiliated as you have been since the other kids arrived. Maintaining your composure was easy in front of them—even Dave. On no planet could you call him the epitome of the stereotypical standard of cool to which you hold yourself, but he seemed comfortable with himself in a way that you’re not sure you could ever be. For all intents and purposes, however, you were fine.

So… you don’t know what it was that broke you.

Maybe it was the stress of everything that has happened to you, maybe it was some kind of coping mechanism, but the first time you woke up with wet sheets and a clammy feeling in your underwear that ran straight down to your thighs, you were fully prepared to fuck off and never speak of this.

You cleaned your sheets and washed your mattress, hoping that the tedious act would somehow deter your body from having another goddamn accident, but it kept happening. Again. And again.

By the end of the week, you couldn’t look any of your friends in the eye, nor could you stay around them for very long without a sense of dread weighing you down—a real problem when you were supposed to be working together to beat this fucking game. But, admittedly, you were scared: intellectually, you knew that there was no way any of them could know about your problem. You’d never even told anyone about how you wet the bed until you were twelve, until you finally wrangled it under control like you, eventually, do everything.

Still, somehow you felt like they could just see it, and so you kept your distance.

“Um. Dirk.”

Jake pulls you off to the side one day after you finished replacing the sheets on your bed and went to meet the group, and every guard you’ve ever constructed for your emotions flies up in the fastest withdrawal into yourself you think you’ve ever pulled off.

“I know that… ah, jeez. I know that the idea behind our apology and subsequent agreement was that you would give me space to sort myself out, and I would try to be less of a dadblasted prick about everything, but I didn’t think it would be _this_ much space. You’ve barely shared a word with any of us in a week, and frankly, your stronger-than-normal reticence is not only putting a damper on the plans at large, but is worrying me as well.”

After the Trickster fiasco, you and Jake stayed broken up, despite both of your wishes to try again: there were too many things happening around you to give a relationship a proper go, and you both had things you needed to think over before you could even consider giving it another shot. But you’re friends again, and under normal circumstances, you’d be glad for that, but—

You really just don’t need his concern right now.

So, with a tense, “I’m fine,” you try to pull your arm away from his grasp, but he holds on tighter and frowns at you.

“Dirk, please. I can’t be more mindful of the feelings of others if you don’t friggin’ let me mind yours!”

But change doesn’t come that easily, and the last thing you want to do is share with Jake, of all people, the fact that you’ve started wetting your bed for the first time in years. You don’t think he would laugh at you, but while you do still trust him on many levels, you don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut when he has the chance to pull people in for advice on what to do about you.

You wrench your arm out of his hand.

“I appreciate it.” On some level, maybe you do. The part of you that is removed from the wreck that is your confidence appreciates the fact that Jake is making more of an effort than you’ve been making by far. “But this is one thing I can’t let you be mindful of. We said no more mindgames, but I can assure you fuckin’ wholeheartedly that this _isn’t_ a mindgame. It’s a problem I have to deal with, for myself, by myself.”

“Oh, Dirk…” Jake sighs, as though he’s figured it out. “You must be worried about Dave, still! Well, I promise you, he’s really nothing to be scared of. He’s a lot like you in a lot of ways, but I think he has the benefit of actually _talking_ to his friends when they’re _worried about him!”_

He takes on an accusatory tone, and you almost flinch—your body doesn’t betray you to that end, though, and you only look at him through the darkness of your shades.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Maybe that was uncalled for? You’re just being as frustrating as ever, no offense, and it is making my personal progress very, very difficult.”

You know you’re not making it easy for him, nor are you making it easy for yourself: maybe you could surmount this little problem of yours if you were willing to let at least one person know about it, but it’s just…

It’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassed that you can manipulate an entire game into nigh-flawless early success, but you can’t force yourself not to piss the bed just because your body decided it was a little overloaded.

You’ve never felt so useless.

“It wasn’t uncalled for.” He’s doing exactly what you wanted him to do the entire time you were dating, and you’re sure that it’s jarring and probably a little infuriating that you’re refusing him now, but you know better than to tell him. “But I’m not worried about Dave, nor am I worried about this stupid fucking game that we’ve been playing for way too long. Like I said, it’s a problem unrelated to anyone or anything except me.”

Jake looks mildly wounded and you know he wants to keep pushing, but when he finally nods, you relax a fraction of an inch.

Thank god.

“I get it,” he says. “But, please…”

He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, searching your shades for the rough placement of your eyes—he would be more correct if you weren’t looking away.

“Remember that you have a friend in me, Dirk. In all of us. We are all here for you, no matter what it is.”

You shift under the weight of his hand, but you nod, stiffly, in reply.

“Thanks, Jake.”

And you do mean it. It’s just hard to show how much you mean it when you can’t take anyone up on the offer to help.

Jake grins, then, squeezing your shoulder once before pulling away and flashing you a disproportionately cheerful double pistols. The wink is tastefully left out.

“Take care of yourself, buddy. I’ll leave you alone now, but remember that I am always just a whistle away! And by whistle, I do mean text, but it would be so cool if I could hear you when you whistled for me like some kind of best friend siren.”

You’re glad to see that someone, at least, hasn’t changed much despite everything that has happened between you—it would be a true fucking miracle if you could rebuild _yourself_ so flawlessly, but for now, you just have to worry about what’s setting you back before you can try to move forward.

“That would be potentially the flyest shit this side of Skaia,” you say, feeling eased by the way Jake’s face lights up at your friendly indulgence. “I’ll work on some kind of Jake whistle in my downtime. Like a dog whistle, except only bucktoothed losers with an affinity for Neytiri’s sweet furry ass can hear it.”

He laughs, apparently delighted by your proposal, and the two of you share a fistbump and exchange some words of parting before you actually part.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re feeling good about the note on which this exchange ended—not just from an interpersonal standpoint, but if Jake, the recently fully-realized Page of Hope, really believes in you so strongly, then you’d be a damn sorry friend to let him down.

Maybe you can keep it together tonight.

Of course, when you stir and the familiar cold wetness clings the fabric of your boxers to your legs, you chide yourself for thinking it would be that easy.

You lie in your own shame for a good five minutes before you finally sit up, and as per your recently-learned routine, pull back the sheets to inspect the damage. It never gets easier to see.

Slipping out of bed, you gingerly peel off your damp underwear and let it drop to the floor, and for a moment, you are overwhelmed. You’re standing in your room, more alone than you’ve been in a long time, the same place you’ve been for almost sixteen years of your goddamn life, your bed is saturated with piss and smells like despair, and you can’t tell your friends about any of it because this is a problem that people normally get over by age six at the latest.

You kick your boxers off your feet, stripping the rest of your clothes as you walk to the shower.

You don’t care. You don’t.

You don’t care that you’re humiliated, you don’t care that Cal is gone, you don’t care that you broke up with your boyfriend, and you don’t care that your other friendships are strained at best.

You turn on the water and step inside, and you’re almost feeling okay, until a loud rattling at your window and the distant sound of Jake calling for you kills you all over again.

_Fuck._


End file.
